


A Little Stiff

by Janina



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Massage, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: anon on tumblr asked for...I wish you would write a (modern Jonsa) fanfic where Sansa is training to be a beauty therapist/masseuse and keeps practicing on Jon (who find the whole thing torturous because he gets aroused every single time) - bonus points if there's a majorly awkward conversation when Sansa notices Jon has a hard on





	A Little Stiff

Jon Snow flipped through the channels on the telly in Sansa Stark's apartment, waiting for her to be done massaging her friend Margaery in the next room so they could hopefully grab some grub. He didn't even care, actually, if they ate. They could just walk the streets of Winterfell for all he cared. He just wanted to be able to hang out with her for a while. He'd barely seen her since she'd started her massage therapy training. Before it was class, now it was fulfilling the hours she needed to get her certificate. 

Every other day she asked him if she could massage him, and every other day he told her no. He could tell it hurt her feelings when he said no, but he knew she also didn't understand why. Probably because he didn't bother to tell her. But how do you tell your best friend, whom you just happen to be head over heels in love with that you're afraid to get a hard on? Just the thought of her hands gliding all over him while he was butt ass naked on her table made his dick twitch. 

Jon heard the door to Sansa's bedroom open, and then Margaery gush, "Oh my God, Sansa, that was _amazing._ I want one every day."

He heard them making their way down Sansa's small hallway and then they entered the living room. Margaery's blue eyes looked a bit glazed over, and her brown hair was mussed. She practically collapsed on Sansa's overstuffed couch and let out a moan. "I'm not sure I can move. I might just nap right here. I'm sooo relaxed."

Sansa giggled as she practically bounced over to where Jon was on the loveseat. She perched herself beside him, tucking her long legs underneath her as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Hi."

Jon smiled at her. "Hi."

"I didn't hear you come in," she said and bit her pink bottom lip. He wanted to nibble on it. "Were you waiting long?" 

When she turned her baby blues on him, he melted. He shook his head. "Not at all."

She smiled brightly and it lit up her whole face. Jon found himself beaming back at her. He tapped her knee with his finger. "I've missed you."

Still smiling she drew one of his inky black curls around his finger and said, "I've missed you too."

"And on that note..." Margaery said and hefted herself up off the couch. "Jon, have you gotten a massage from Sansa yet?"

Jon, who had almost forgotten completely about Margaery, looked up at her. "I haven't."

"Why not?" She smirked. "Afraid you'll get hard?"

Okay, this would be why Margaery sometimes, most times, annoyed him. Not only was she crass, but he really could do without her calling him out on his shit. 

"Oh God, is that why you won't let me massage you?" Sansa asked, rearing back and looking at him in shock. “My teacher talked about how it can happen, but I mean, it can’t happen to every man? And its me, Jon. _Me_.”

Jon cleared his throat. "San, certain things happen to a man..."

"Are you really about to explain erections to me?"

He sighed. "I was, yes."

Sansa narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and then climbed off the couch. "I'm starving. Ready?"

Jon was nervous. There was no way she was going to let this go. And he had a really bad feeling that quite soon he was going to end up on her massage table. 

He glared at Margaery when she snickered at him. 

xxxxxxxxx

The following afternoon found Jon staring down at his nemesis: the massage table. 

Just as he'd thought yesterday, once Sansa had discovered his true motive for not wanting a massage, she had chalked it up to nonsense and this time, would not take no for an answer. "Are you or are you not my best friend?" she'd asked him. 

"Of course I am," he said. 

"Then you need to help me get all my hours. I haven't done a man yet, so you're going to be my first."

Fucking hell. That sentence alone had nearly gotten him hard. Did she really have no idea what she did to him? 

Now he was in her bedroom with her _bed,_ the very bed where he wanted to do all sorts of things to her, and she had the shades drawn and some aromatherapy candles burning. Talk about setting the fucking mood. 

"Jon?" Sansa called through her bedroom door. "Are you on the table?"

"In a minute!" he called back, wondering if he just thought his voice squeaked or if it really had. 

He climbed up on the table, face down and made sure the towel she'd given him was across his ass. He stuck his face in the hole at the top and called out. "Ready!"

He heard her door open and he felt his whole body tense. 

"I saw that."

He made a face despite the fact that she couldn't see him. "Saw what?"

"Your butt just clenched."

"It did not!"

"Did so."

"Sansa," he huffed. "Really?"

She giggled and he listened to her as she moved about the room. He was trying to gauge where she was and—

Hey. Was that her underwear peeking out from under her bed? 

Well, crap. Now that he'd seen it he couldn't look away. It was pink. It was lacy. It was silky looking. 

Now his traitorous mind couldn't stop from conjuring up an image of her in said panties. Would he be able to see her thatch of red hair under that lace? Or did she shave herself bare?

Yup. It was happening now. He was getting hard. 

When her hands came down onto his shoulders, he jumped. 

"Jon, calm down," she said soothingly as she kneaded his shoulders. Her hands were warm and slick from the oil. 

Oil. That made him think of lube, and lube made him think of sex. Specifically sex with Sansa. 

"I'm calm," he squeaked. He definitely squeaked. 

He darted his glance away from her panties only to have his eyes alight on her pink painted toes. He wasn't a foot person, not by any stretch, but Sansa's feet were just so fucking adorable. He thought about holding her ankles up against his shoulders as he pounded into her. 

Her hands, were inching down his back and he was hard. He was hard, he was hard, he was hard. 

For the next ten minutes, he tried everything he could think of to will his erection away. He thought of his Mum and Stepfather having sex. He tried conjugating French verbs in his head. It was no use. Sansa was touching him, her toes were pink, and her panties were lacy and pink. 

And he wanted her. 

By God, he wanted her. 

When she got to his upper thigh he thought he was going to push a hole through the table with his dick.

"Okay, now it's time to turn around," she said, her voice husky. Was this her masseuse voice? Jesus _fuck_. "I know you're enjoying this. I heard you moan. I'll turn around while you flip over."

"I can't," he croaked. 

Silence. Then, "What?"

"I can't turn over," he said, ashamed. 

"Why?"

"I'm hard. If I turn over, there is no hiding it. This towel will do nothing. There will be a tent, Sansa. Boy scouts will be able to camp under it."

"Okay, that's disturbing."

"I warned you!"

"No, mentioning boy scouts in relation to the tent your dick will make."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. 

"Turn over, Jon," she said softly. 

"Sansa, no, I can't."

"You can." Silence again. Then a whisper. "I want you to. I want to see it."

He froze. "What?"

"I want to see it," she said, a whisper again. 

Did she...? Did she _want_ him too?

"Sansa, do you...want me?"

"Turn around and find out."

He was panting now. He slowly got up and turned over, managing to keep the towel over his groin despite what she had said. He leaned up on his elbows and looked at her, waiting. Just as he'd promised, the towel was now a tent. 

"An army could fit under there," she said with some awe. She bit her lip, shifted on her bare feet, and then reached out toward him. 

Jon held his breath. If she did this, it was going to change their relationship. They would be _more_. They'd have to be, right? 

She did it. She lifted the towel off his lap and there it was, his one-eyed monster, pointing straight up. She stood off to the side a bit, as though after the unveiling she expected it to launch cum at her like a missile launcher. Sansa wasn't a virgin; she knew the likelihood of that happening was slim to none. Or at least he hoped so. 

She inched closer, and he remembered to breathe even as she reached out and used her palm to gather up some precum.

"Sansa," he gasped. 

She stroked his cock and knew exactly where to squeeze and when. Jon flopped back onto the table, tilting his head to watch her as she gave him an expert handjob. He was trying so hard to make this last and yet the knowledge that Sansa, the woman he was so in love with, was doing this for him, was causing him to hurtle towards the finish line. 

She touched his balls. 

Game over. 

He came and it was like a missile launcher. She yelped and moved out of the way, but some cum managed to get on her cheek. "Sansa, Sansa, Sansa..." was all he was able to babble. Then he watched her use her finger to swipe the cum off her cheek and then lick it. _She fucking licked her finger with his cum on it._

"I love you," he blurted out. 

She laughed. "I bet you say that to all the girls who give you handjobs."

"No, Sansa, no. I love you, sweet girl. I really do."

She smiled and leaned down to kiss him. He lifted his head, eager for her kiss and growled before he captured her lips with his. 

"I'm so glad Margaery encouraged me to get you on this table. She said it would pay off,” she whispered when they parted. 

“Did she now?”

Sansa nodded. “She said it might…get something going.”

Jon gazed at her searchingly. “Sansa, did you want to get something going?”

She nodded. “I did.” She looked down. “I love you too, Jon. I have for a long time now.”

Jon got up on one elbow and tilted her chin up with his free hand. “Sansa, look at me.”

She looked up and he smiled. “Come here,” he whispered. 

They kissed again and again and again and Jon felt himself getting hard all over again. “San, I want to – I want to give you a massage,” he said breathlessly. 

She furrowed her brows. “You do?”

He nodded. “I want to massage your cunt. With my tongue.”

She grinned. “Then get the hell off the table, Jon. It’s my turn.”


End file.
